This is the time of the year when everything is getting spooky. The days are getting darker earlier, the weather now gives you the chills, people are getting crankier and it seems like the sky is always gray. However, there is something even scarier and that is entering my username and password for any computer account that I have. Halloween and Freddie Kruger have nothing on my heart rate when I sit down in front of my monitor.
In order to keep up with all of my online accounts, I keep a really nice logbook. It’s large enough not to lose, and small enough to actually lose. It has three double-sided pages for every letter of the alphabet, a total of six pages per letter. One might think that would be enough to enter all of my secret codes into, but one would be wrong.
Here’s an example: Say I have an account with The Apple Orchard Company. I have my credit card but I want to start ordering things online because it’s cold out, I’m tired, I forgot about a birthday coming up in three days and it’s after midnight. This should be easy. I pick a username and a password. I’ll say I’m Tiny Orchard and my password is TOTOTO (I’m not creative). I order the perfect gift. I pay for it. I close my computer. Oh, wait. I wanted to get something else. I open up my computer, I enter into The Apple Orchard Company’s website and now have to put in my username and password again. I enter too many “Os” in my password so I have to do it again. Then I fail to put in enough “Ts.” Urgh. One more time. Then I get a prompt from them that asks me if I want to reset my password. They’ve figured out that I’m illiterate at this point and this is their gentle way of saying, “Since you have no memory of what you just did a few moments ago, you are going to have to do it all over again, you have no choice, and write it down this time.”
I figure out a new password and have written down my new one in my alphabetical log for the third time. I finish my transaction.
Two days later I have to go back into the store’s website to order a baby shower present. I can’t believe it. After three attempts to correctly type in the new password, I’m asked to reset my password again. So, I cross out the third password that I had and write in my new password, which is now my fourth entry.
There are twenty six letters of the alphabet; six pages for each letter to write entries on; at least 120 pages have writings that go around the page, across the page, into all the margins, with different inks, in different cases, and intermingling at times. I’m now afraid to order anything online again. Now that’s scary.